


The Thunderstorm

by heavenorspace, twobirdsonesong



Series: A Boy and His Wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Art, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddly Derek, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Protectiveness, Time Skips, Wolf Derek, kid stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace/pseuds/heavenorspace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a raining, thundering night, Derek comforts a 9-year-old Stiles after the death of his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

> A Boy and His Wolf is a collaborative project between [heavenorspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace) and myself.
> 
> It will be a series of vignettes, out of chronological order, set in a world where Derek, in the form of a wolf, first encountered Stiles when he was a toddler playing in the woods. Derek is under strict pack orders not to reveal himself as werewolf to the human boy and must only interact with him as a wolf. When Stiles is a child, their relationship is strictly platonic and protective in nature. As Stiles grows older that begins to change.
> 
> Each drabble will be accompanied by a piece of art drawn by heavenorspace.

(art by [heavenorspace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenorspace))

***

It’s not the bone-shaking crash of thunder that sends Derek out from his usual spot under the thick trees in the backyard of the Stilinski home and up to the second story window of Stiles’ bedroom, but rather the crushing scent of heartache and sorrow rolling from every inch of the dark house.

 

The window is closed against the rain and the wind, but Derek can see Stiles on his bed, curled tight around a pillow.  Even through the glass he can scent the grief on the boy, thick and overpowering and drowning out everything else.  It coats Derek’s tongue and he practically chokes on it.  Derek scratches at the window with his claws, wuffing softly, trying to get Stiles’ attention.  He can’t open the window from the outside with his paws and he dares not transform.  He already uses his human form to the scale the house, shifting back to the wolf before the boy sees him.  Not once in all their years of knowing each other has Stiles once questioned the sight of a massive wolf on the roof outside his window.  And his father doesn’t know that’s how Derek gets inside when he’s not waiting at the back door.

 

Stiles finally lifts his head from the pillow and Derek can’t stop the pained growl that emanates from him.  The boy’s eyes are puffy and red and Derek can smell the wet salt of his tears.  He scratches at the window again, desperate with the need to get inside where he can comfort his human the way he’s been doing ever since Stiles was a toddler.

 

Stiles doesn’t smile at the sight of him like he usually does, Derek doesn’t know if he’s even capable of it right then, but relief and affection spikes in his scent and he pulls himself from the messy tangle of his bed.  Derek whines softly when he sees how stiffly Stiles moves, as though his muscle ache, but Derek knows it’s only his poor heart.

 

The window finally slides open and Derek immediately pushes himself through the opening, sharp claws scrabbling and scratching at the ledge until he’s inside.  He would be annoyed by how much noise he just made, but he doesn’t care.  He’s got far more important things to worry about just then.  The smell of anguish is even stronger here, permeating every corner of the dimly lit room.  It makes his fur bristle and stand on end.

 

This is not how it’s supposed to be.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Stiles whispers, voice cracked and burnt.  Exhaustion is bruised in dark circles under his eyes and etched in lines around his red mouth.  He looks like he’s been chewing his lips.  Through the window lightning flashes.

  
Derek circles around Stiles’ pajama clad legs, shoving his nose into his soft belly and the sweaty backs of his knees, searching out every note of his scent.  Stiles’ hand drops to the back of his neck and his long fingers tangle and grip in his thick ruff, searching for the purchase and grounding that’s suddenly been ripped away from the very fabric of his life.

 

Derek pads towards the bed, using Stiles’ hold on his fur to pull him along with him.  He nudges at Stiles’ legs and butt with his snout until the boy crawls back onto the bed, body burrowing in the pile of blankets that smell of stale sweat and snot and dried tears.  He makes sure Stiles is settled before he walks the perimeter or the room, pushing the window closed with his front paws and making sure nothing has snuck into Stiles’ closet or under his bed.  He sniffs under the door and the sharp burn of alcohol that comes from Stiles’ father’s room tickles his sensitive nose.  But the Sheriff’s breathing is slow and steady and Derek knows that the sleep - however it was brought on - will only help.

Satisfied that Stiles is as safe as he can make him, that there are no potential threats lurking, and that no other supernatural creatures have been in his room, Derek leaps lightly onto the bed.  The mattress dips beneath his weight and Stiles out reaches for him immediately – long, gangly arms coming around him and Derek allows himself to be pulled down.  Outside, a burst of lightning flashes and thunder cracks.  Stiles shudders and curls around Derek the way he’d been wrapped around the pillow, holding him like he’s the only real thing left in his world.  Derek doesn’t mind at all.  Beneath the stench of sorrow Stiles still smells like milk and laundry soap and boy.  His boy.  Derek adjusts his long body and lets Stiles’ rest his head in the softer curve of his neck and shoulder.  Stiles takes a deep breath in and Derek wonders what his fur smells like to the boy.

 

Derek knows what happened to Stiles’ mom.  The news of Claudia had carried fast across town and Derek’s own mom had wrapped him up in her arms and smoothed his hair and told him it was all right to go visit the boy, as long as he stayed in his wolf body.

 

“You’re going to want to shift,” his mother had said.  “But don’t.  Now is not the time.”

 

But Derek wishes he could hold Stiles in human arms the way his mom holds him when he’s hurt and sad and tell him everything will be okay with human words.  He knows he’s not that much older than Stiles, but he thinks the boy - with his wounded, acrid scent and hitching breath - could use a human friend right now, and not the wolf who first saw him playing in the woods all those years ago.

 

“I don’t understand,” Stiles finally whispers into Derek’s soft fur.  His voice is barely audible, but to Derek’s ears it’s as loud as the rain.

 

Derek whines gently, frustrated he can’t say more, can’t say anything at all.  He loves being the wolf, but there are limitations.  He can’t say: _I’m sorry.  It’s not fair.  She was beautiful.  I’m sorry.  I’m here for you._

 

Instead, he licks the tears from Stiles’ soft, red cheeks and wraps his tail around Stiles’ arm.  The salt is bitter and sharp, but the rough of his tongue almost makes Stiles’ smile.  Almost, but it’s enough for Derek.  If Stiles were another wolf like him Derek would have them curl around each other and bury their noses in each other’s fur until the hurt melted away, but Stiles is human.  A fragile human with a breakable heart and Derek can only do so much.

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Stiles mumbles.  His voice is still tinged with that drowning sorrow, but the softness of sleep is beginning to edge its way in.

 

Derek whuffs in the best response he can give.

 

“I wish I knew your name.”

 

Derek doesn’t wear a collar, of course, and he’s thought about trying to scratch out his name with a claw, just so Stiles would have something to call him other than “buddy.”  And so he could hear Stiles call him by name.  But he’s not supposed to be anything more than an overly domesticated wolf - he’s not supposed to have a name or know how to spell it out.  It chafes sometimes; that this is the role he must play.  Of all the nights they’ve spent in each other’s company Derek has never wanted to break the rules more.   But Stiles doesn’t need the shock of Derek suddenly shifting into a human boy right there in his bed, not right then.

 

 _I wish you were a wolf like me_ , Derek thinks.  It would be so much easier.  And Stiles’ parents too.  Then Claudia wouldn’t have gotten sick and Derek wouldn’t have to pretend around Stiles’ father, a man with eyes too keen for his own good.  They could be a pack, a real pack.  And the Stilinski’s could come over for dinner and Stiles and Derek could chase each other through the woods and answer each other’s howling song under the moonlight.

 

“I miss her already,” Stiles chokes out, voice high and breaking as the tears return and his scent turns bitter once more.  Derek whines and wriggles in Stiles’ arms, pushing back until Stiles’ hugs him as tightly as he can.  His own heart aches for his boy, but he can’t make it better.  He can’t do anything but offer the weight and warmth of his body.  He can’t protect Stiles from this, no matter how badly he wants to.

 

He can’t fight an enemy that’s already won.

 

 _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, uselessly.

 

Derek can smell the sleep creeping up on Stiles and he’s thankful for it.  The boy is exhausted all the way through to his bones.

 

“Thank you for coming,” Stiles whispers as he buries his face in Derek’s neck.

 

Derek stays the whole night even though he knows how dangerous it is.  He usually leaves as soon as Stiles falls asleep, but that night Derek keeps watch over him until the sun rises again.  Stiles’ parents have always been wary of the great, black wolf that hangs around way too often to be normal.  But Derek has earned their trust as best he can over the years.  He knows how to play the part of the faithful, protective, if overly intelligent dog to ease their worries.  Besides, if the Sheriff comes to check on his heartbroken son, Derek will hear him coming with more than enough time to slip out unnoticed.  Finding a massive wolf in his son’s bed might be too much for the man.

 

Tonight Stiles’ need for him overrides everything else, so Derek stays.  The harsh rain lashes at the windows and the thunder continues to rumble overhead and Derek stays awake until the storm passes and the sun peeks over the horizon.


End file.
